The plane prepares to take off
(but this is irrelevant).
There is the space between
platform and plane,
steps necessary,
to make mechanics
not mundane.

We have discovered little more
than the backstage hands
disguised and disguising
what we try not to see
the things that make strings sing
enjoying the undulations,
coherence unpinned.

But here comes the flaw:
the careful mechanics
of panic before
is what make moments worth
worrying for.

We hate what we make
because we won’t admit
what we need.

So listen, I am worried, indeed
that bridges shake
and tempt fate with dichotomized
we give up, or go on.

But consider shaking plane wings
make waters passable
and may let you swim.

So fill me with memories
like a rowboat with water.
Don’t offer me oars,
just tell me what’s true.

And one of those days when we walk
until our feet hate the pavement,
forgetting who heard what and not
as we ramble about leaving
our options open,
we will pass by the same
person we never noticed
before, who will wisely reply
“You’re gonna die
talking about your options.”

And then we’ll go swimming.